Easterleigh Hall at War

by Margaret Graham

  Harry said, sipping tea from a mug, ‘The sterilisers in the hospital wing are going to do what is necessary, aren’t they? I was thinking that perhaps it would do Captain Williams good to have a project, like trying to get more sterilisers to us, and working out where they can go.’

  John Neave tossed a crust at him. Harry ducked and laughed. John said, winking at Evie and Veronica, ‘Not just a pretty face, eh?’ He tossed another crust at Ronald Simmons. ‘Whereas, you, my lad, are definitely a pretty face, with or without a nose.’

  They all grinned. Matron had heard of a Canadian doctor in the south of England who thought he could do something with faces, and she was trying to find out more.

  ‘Good idea, Harry,’ Veronica said, pushing away from the side of the cart, and dusting off her hands. ‘We’ll install Richard in Father’s study. Evie and Mrs Moore will have their kitchen back, and I will stop being a harridan.’

  ‘Oh no, you won’t,’ came the cry from them all.

  The next day Captain Neave’s taxi drew up at the door an hour before luncheon on a bright and shining morning, with a sky so blue the birds were soaring for joy. Mr Harvey carried his portmanteau down the steps as he did with all those leaving, regardless of rank. Evie walked with John Neave to the taxi. He kissed her hand, then he smiled, holding out his arms. She hugged him. ‘Be safe, be lucky.’

  He said, ‘I have been up to now. Just being here has been something that has changed my life. When I think of all the people I’ve met – you especially, Evie – it means so much. Trust that your men are safe, Evie Forbes. Trust that they are, until you hear different, and don’t let go of your dream of a hotel. The problem will be that your guests will never leave your kindness and your cooking.’

  Matron came to them, crunching across the gravel. She shook hands. Captain Neave held out his arms. She drew herself up to her full length and breadth. It was impressive. ‘That’s quite enough of that, young man,’ she told him. Captain Neave laughed and was still laughing as he threw his captain’s obligatory stick into the back of the taxi and bounded in after it. They waved as the taxi roared off down the drive. Matron called, ‘Be careful, young John. You just be careful. I won’t have our work undone.’ Tears were running down her face.

  Without turning to Evie she told her, ‘You will say nothing, do you understand. You will say nothing to me.’ With that she dragged her hand across her eyes, set her shoulders and marched back inside.

  Evie waved again, and saw Norman, the telegraph boy from Easton, cycling, head down, up the drive. He passed the taxi, which stopped. She saw John lean from the window and look at the boy’s retreating back. Norman was pushing hard on the pedals, trying to make speed on the gravel. Evie could hear him panting as he drew near. He skidded to a stop, looking over her shoulder as he had taken to doing, because he said he couldn’t bear to look in people’s eyes any more.

  He dug into his leather pouch. ‘Here you go, Evie, hoy this beggar to Lady Veronica.’ He licked the lead of his pencil and thrust the telegram at her. She signed for it. He stuffed the docket into his bag, swung his bicycle round and pedalled back down the drive. John Neave had climbed out, and now flagged the boy down.

  Norman stopped. They spoke. Evie took the telegram into the hallway. There were men on stretchers on the floor in the rest room that had been put aside for visitors, and on mattresses in the billiards room, which was for the recreation of all ranks. Neuve Chapelle had taken its toll on all establishments. An orderly was passing. Evie gave him the telegram. ‘Let Lady Veronica have this, would you, Sid.’

  He grinned. ‘This’ll put a smile on her face. She’s been waiting long enough.’

  Evie hurried to the back stairs, heading for the kitchen. She must trust it was good news. She must. She must. Potty would have told them if it wasn’t. Yes, that was it, of course, and she was glad that today they were breaching Captain Richard’s orders and creating a golden soup, to be removed by Home Farm pork with sautéed potatoes and spring greens from Easterleigh Hall land. This would be removed by honey sponge and custard. The men had been informed. Excitement was in the air, and Captain Richard would have forgotten his instructions.

  She leaped down the stairs. Honey sponge had been suggested by young Derek Hayes, just eighteen and here to convalesce. His war was over, his foot left somewhere in France. Had he shot himself? Who the hell cared, Dr Nicholls had said to Evie as they sheltered from the wind beneath the cedar, ‘It’s far better than losing his mind.’

  Mr Thomas, the Hawton bee-keeper, said there was a greater demand for honey as people were still stockpiling, and he might not be able to supply as much as the Hall needed on a regular basis. Nevertheless, the sponge would have an extra few spoonfuls today.

  As Evie hurried down the corridor she remembered that Harry Travers’s family had beehives. When he got going it was the only time that the young man was boring, such was his interest in the little beggars. She must remember to suggest to him that he sell them jars from home, because he’d be heading back there soon. The false leg Da and Tom, the blacksmith, had made for him was working well, if yesterday’s efforts at the bog were anything to go by. He’d be back, of course, because the stump would shrink and adjustments would need to be made.

  In the kitchen Annie was up to her elbows in flour, and Mrs Moore was chastising the vegetable volunteers for being lax with their washing of the leaves. There was a rich smell of tender pork, pumped up with several bottles of Merlot, thanks to Auberon and which Richard mustn’t know about. For a moment Evie could see Auberon’s grin, his blonde hair falling over his forehead, his eyes that were even more violet than Si’s. Aye, the lad had changed into a good, good man. She felt happier than for such a long while, and she started to sing, ‘If I was the only girl in the world, and you were the . . .’

  She saw that Mrs Moore was looking at her, but no, not at her, behind her, Annie too, and Mrs Barnes from the village, who had stopped chopping carrots. She fell silent, and turned. It was Ver, holding out the telegram, her face alabaster. Captain Richard was behind her, holding on to the door frame, his face rigid.

  ‘Take it,’ Veronica told Evie.

  ‘Read it,’ Evie insisted.

  Captain Richard limped forward, using his cane, and snatched the telegram. ‘Mrs Moore, kindly help Veronica and Evie to the stools. Annie, tea at once. Mrs Barnes, would you be so kind as to continue preparations for luncheon. Life must go on.’

  Mrs Moore took each woman by the elbow and urged them to sit down. Evie remembered Simon coming to tell her that Timmie, her lovely lad, was dead. Timmie. Tim. Millie. ‘Someone fetch Millie,’ she said, her voice even and level, but it didn’t sound like hers.

  Mrs Barnes left the potatoes she was washing in the zinc sink in the scullery, for there was no peeling of them any more. Every ounce of goodness must be saved. Evie watched as she hurried to the laundry, her pale blue uniform stretched around her ample body. They heard the shriek as Mrs Barnes delivered the message, the running feet, and here Millie was, grabbing Captain Richard, nearly knocking him over. Mrs Moore shouted, ‘Sit down, Millie.’ She reached for Captain Richard, and set him upright as though he was a bowling pin, Evie thought. A bloody bowling pin.

  The telegram was from Potty, not Auberon. ‘Captain Hon. Brampton missing believed killed stop almost certain to include Sgt Forbes stop Cpl Preston stop Francis Smith stop my condolences.’

  Evie heard someone screaming. Then a slap. The screaming stopped. Mrs Moore rubbed her hand, so swollen with rheumatism. ‘You must get a grip of yourself, Millie.’

  ‘Francis?’ Evie said. ‘Francis?’

  Millie was howling, sitting rocking on a stool. ‘Roger, you bloody fool, Evie. His name is Francis Smith, little you know about anything.’

  Veronica said, ‘Father insists on every valet being called Roger, every footman James or Archie. God, oh God.’ She was gripping Evie’s hand. ‘I can’t bear it. I won’t bear it.’ Annie was pouring tea into enamel mugs. She
gave one to Evie.

  Evie passed it to Veronica. ‘You can. You must. We all must. Somehow.’ It was she gripping Ver’s hand now. Be safe, be lucky, what a bloody laugh. There was a knock on the kitchen door. It was John Neave. ‘I spoke to Norman. I wasn’t convinced it was quite Auberon’s usual message. I will go to your parents, Evie, and to Simon’s, shall I?’

  Evie pulled away from Veronica. ‘Take me, too. They need that.’ She looked at Mrs Moore, who nodded, saying, ‘Pour more tea, Annie. Captain Richard, brandy if you will, from Mr Harvey, quick as you can. Off you go now, Evie.’

  John Neave and Captain Richard muttered together. Evie felt as though she was no longer physically present, her mind was fixed so strongly on the word believed. Only believed. Believed. She said it aloud. ‘Potty only believes. Remember that. Those who told him don’t know. They need a body to know.’

  Richard and John said nothing and she knew they thought of artillery, of shells that destroyed, of shell holes full of mud that drowned. She remembered Mart, gone, never found. But the telegram said believed. She reached for Veronica’s arm, squeezed it. ‘Potty said “believed”.’

  Chapter 6

  Easterleigh Hall, 25th April 1915

  ON 15TH APRIL Tyneside was bombed in a Zeppelin air raid, and the newspapers carried a follow-up article on 25th April. In Richard’s study Ver stood close to her husband, feeling his arm around her. ‘I love you so much,’ she said. ‘We’re lucky, we have our lives ahead of us, not like these Tynesiders, not like those at Ypres, not like . . .’ She stopped. ‘Disaster is all around us, darling, it’s found our men and now it’s coming for us.’

  He kissed her hard. ‘No, it’s not targeting us, you, Evie. It’s war, just war, but I think you’re overtired, you have rushed and bustled ever since you insisted on returning to duty after your collapse, too early in my opinion.’

  They were in Richard’s study, looking at the map of the progress of the war pinned up on a board to the left of his desk. A few days after Potty’s telegram, while Veronica was in bed, numb and ill from shock and despair, he had sent for his old desk and filing cabinets from his parents’ home in Cumbria. He was unwilling to remain in Lord Brampton’s study which he had found too repressive, too full of the sense of the beatings Auberon had endured at his father’s hand.

  Richard had explored the basement, finding many large disused storerooms which he felt would be needed for administrative purposes as the war progressed, but which required electrification. He had chosen the one nearest the servants’ hall for his study and purchased what sterilisers he could find for the spaghnum moss, all the while making the arrangements for the electrification of the basement and the attic. He used his own money for all of this, and severely depleted his resources, insisting that it must be done, saying that it was the least he could do for the war effort. It was as though Potty’s news, and Veronica’s collapse, had jerked him on to a different level, and even improved his memory. Or was it, Veronica wondered, that they all felt that if they worked hard, and were very very good, they would somehow earn the survival of their men? When she finally reappeared in the kitchen after two weeks, she was given cocoa by Evie, and honey cake, and a big hug. ‘All will be well,’ Evie had said. Somehow one half of Veronica believed her.

  Now she held Richard’s face between both hands and kissed him. ‘Work makes the days pass, darling, and stops me winding myself up like a great spring about everything. But then something breaks through, like the news of the gas the Huns have used at Ypres, which means we’ll use it, and then where will it end?’ Her head ached from tiredness, but also perhaps from the drilling in the corridor, as the workmen brought electrification to their subterranean world.

  ‘You must try to sleep, darling.’

  She smiled. ‘I do, sometimes, after . . .’ She kissed him again, flushing, remembering the pleasure of those dark hours now he was so improved. ‘But it feels wrong, when Aub has gone, when another convoy is on its way here. So many broken minds and bodies, day after day.’

  Richard held her close, kissing her neck. ‘I know I’ve said it before, but moments of happiness are not a crime. I know I’ve also said that you’ve been on the acute ward for three weeks now, so should you ask Matron for fatigue duties?’

  Veronica shook her head. ‘I’m useful, I’m learning. I’m needed. I prefer it to dusting, of course I do. It keeps . . . Remember that Evie said they only “believe”.’

  He kissed her forehead. ‘She’s right. There’s room for doubt. Think of that, not anything else.’

  ‘How can there be doubt about all four? One shell would be enough.’ Veronica made herself stop. It did no good, only harm. She shrugged and Richard loosened his grip, turning to the desk. He handed her the costings that Dr Nicholls had produced before going on leave. ‘Here, this is what you came for, darling girl, as requested by Nairns. You said Evie would take them up with the kitchen figures, didn’t you? I’ve checked over them and agree with you that they are accurate.’

  The temporary Medical Officer, Dr Nairns, was imposing himself and his ideas on Matron, and had just this morning badgered Veronica as commandant for up-to-date accounts of hospital expenditure. ‘He seems uncommonly interested in our costings, and far less concerned with the patients than Nicholls,’ Richard remarked.

  Veronica flicked through them. ‘I suppose everyone has their different methods, and we are cutting it very fine with the hospital budget. But at least the funding you’re trying to raise for the work programme isn’t his concern, so he can keep his nose out of that. He really does seem to be everywhere, like a bad rash, or so Evie puts it. Have you heard back from any of your contacts yet? I know it’s difficult, as one hesitates to approach those who are grieving, but needs must. We do have tea parties and a fete planned for the warmer weather, but that’s for the hospital.’ She drew a quick breath, seeing her husband’s patient smile, but she had to keep talking, keep interested, and working. It was what Evie did, but what didn’t she do? She was a force of nature, that girl.

  There was a bang from the corridor, a shout. ‘Watch it, man. That nearly hit me foot.’ The drilling resumed.

  It was Evie who had suggested that Richard use his skills to produce money for a work programme at Easterleigh Hall when he had finished preparing for the electrification. This had followed his attempts to help in the kitchen, and then a return visit two weeks ago from a partially disabled army corporal and his wife, who could find no work and had no money. They had work now, at Easterleigh Hall, and were being paid, but there were many other ex-patients who had been in touch, their disability pensions proving inadequate. Something had to be done. Money had to be raised, work must be found.

  There was a knock on the door and Captain Simmons poked his, she couldn’t say nose, round the door and announced, ‘Mr Harvey has just taken a phone call from Sir Anthony Travers, Richard. Clearly Harry bent his ear on his weekend home, and he’d like to speak to you at his club in Durham within the next few days, if we’d like to telephone him. Can you manage Durham if I come with you? Didn’t say what it was about but it could be some help with funding for those without work. He’s a good chap, Sir Anthony is. Or so Father says. He’ll put something into the pot too, but I told you that.’

  While Ron was speaking Richard had returned to his chair, and was now pushing some papers around, not replying. Veronica beckoned Ron in. She knew that in spite of coming so far, so quickly, her husband still lacked the confidence to leave the confines of Easterleigh Hall and it was becoming a problem, one that Ron had been discussing with Dr Nicholls. He had obviously been discussing it with others too, because he and Harry were as thick as thieves and just as devious. Ron nodded at her, and she spoke her prepared lines, written together with him and Evie first thing this morning.

  She said, ‘It would be ideal, Ron. He’ll need someone with him the first time to circumnavigate any obstacles, as long as you don’t mind. People can be cruel, I know they stare, and it won’t be e
asy for you.’

  She felt the heat rise on her cheeks because she had never before brought up the fact that he presented himself to the world with facial injuries, but he’d insisted on this when they prepared her words.

  Ron said, ‘We’ll have a high old time, won’t we Richard? The two of us out on the town together.’

  Evie had suggested that Richard would feel honour bound to accompany a man who dared to face the stares in order to act as support. There was a pause as he continued to tidy the papers on his desk, placing one on top of the other, lining them up exactly. He looked up finally, and grinned. ‘I now know that there are absolutely no lengths to which my wife and my friends will go to do what is best for me, so how can I refuse?’

  ‘Splendid, old man. I’ll reply in the affirmative.’ Ron winked at Veronica and limped out of the room. Veronica reached out and held Richard’s outstretched hand, saying, ‘Excellent, now the electrification can progress into the study in your absence, giving Evie the time she needs to properly prepare an alternative kitchen before the electricians rip the old one apart.’

  ‘Good God,’ Richard said, kissing her hand. ‘You two really are witches, as Auberon said. All this Durham business just for that.’

  For a moment their smiles faltered. Auberon. Where was he? But Richard was levering himself to his feet, reaching for his cane. ‘Will you help me pack?’

  There was a knock on the door, and Ron looked in again. ‘You can’t hear above the noise, but Evie’s calling for you, something to do with the pastry for lunch.’

  Veronica snatched up the figures and rushed to the door. ‘I forgot.’

  ‘Then you are damned for ever. Try telling her that it is your off shift and you are bestowing a great kindness on her,’ Richard called after her. ‘And I suppose I must pack myself?’